


Have not. Will not.

by mongoose_bite



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9113137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite
Summary: Yuri knew perfectly well that Victor hadn't always been a moron; he'd looked up to him for years. As far as he was concerned all of Victor's problems stemmed from a single source.Determined to learn from Victor's mistakes as well as his successes, Yuri took the simple vow not to follow in his footsteps.No matter what happened, he wouldn't fall in love.





	

 

“Is he serious?” Yakov mumbled, absent-mindedly rubbing his bald spot as he scowled at his feet, which told Yuri how distracted he was. They were alone for now, but anyone could walk in, and Yakov never took his hat off in public any more than was absolutely necessary.

Yuri didn't look up from his phone, listening to Yakov grumble with only half an ear. Of course he was serious. Victor was always serious, even when he didn't appear to be. Serious was not the same as reliable, of course, but when it came to Yuuri Victor could literally deny him nothing, regardless of how impossible his requests were.

Continuing to coach while attempting to return to the ice himself was simply a recipe for disaster, especially at Victor's age, and Yuri was quietly determined to prove it by making sure Victor never made it back to the top of the podium. Not that it was going to be difficult; even the great Victor Nikiforov had the same number of hours in the day and days in the year as everyone else.

Love does not give you wings, Yuri thought, it simply makes you believe you can fly and then encourages you to jump off something high. Victor was going to crash this year, no doubt about it.

And Yuri, Yuri was going to soar. He wouldn't be satisfied until he had as many gold medals as Victor himself, and if Victor screwed up Yuuri's coaching, didn't provide Yuri with the competitor he'd always sensed the potential of, he was not going to forgive him.

“Oi, Yakov,” Yuri said, looking up from his screen. “Don't waste too much time on Victor. I'm going to win gold again next year.”

“Hrumph!” Yakov put his hat back on, remembering that he wasn't alone. “Don't forget neither you nor Katsuki came anywhere near his combined score. Don't get overconfident.”

“That Victor no longer exists,” Yuri said, and truth be told it disappointed him. “He fell in love and died. Don't worry, that won't happen to me, I promise.”

“Easy enough to say,” Yakov mumbled and then looked at his watch. “Come on, we need to get going.”

 

~~

Yuri was not the shy, retiring type who kept his opinions to himself, although in this case it seemed so obvious that it was barely worth mentioning, but when he explained his theory of love to Mila and the other skaters, they didn't take him seriously at all.

Georgi wasn't a surprise. He spent every free evening he had going out on dates with his new girlfriend (they weren't official yet, he declared, while singing her praises and ignoring Yuri's gagging noises) so of course he didn't like to hear the unpalatable truth, but Yuri expected Mila to be more receptive.

Instead they treated him to indulgent smiles and told him it wasn't so easy, and he fumed and scowled and said he'd show them.

“What about Otabek?” Mila asked.

“What about him?” Yuri bristled. “He is my friend.” His first ever. And Otabek at least would take him seriously.

Yuri didn't like talking about Otabek to other people. That stupid headline had got under his skin, and had in retrospect given a bitterness to an otherwise treasured memory. At the time he hadn't given any thought to how others might see it; he was just glad to have made an escape, and curious as to where they were off to and what the other skater had wanted from him.

He'd wanted to be a friend. _Wanted._ Him. Even though he knew he was intimidating and grumpy most of the time. And when Yuri thought about that, he forgot about the insulting headline, because Otabek didn't think he was a fairy or a kitten.

But he still didn't like to talk about it. He wasn't entirely sure how to be someone's friend, and having other people metaphorically peering over his shoulder wouldn't help.

Otabek didn't laugh at his theory, but he didn't sound entirely convinced either.

“What about Yuuri?” he asked, his voice calm in Yuri's ear. He'd gone back to Kazakhstan after the GPF to receive the adulation of his countrymen and start training for the next season. “Wasn't he going to retire until Victor offered to be his coach and inspired him again?”

“If Katsudon had confidence in himself he could have skated to his potential from the start,” Yuri said blithely, having never lacked for confidence himself and thus not terribly sympathetic. He felt like most of Yuuri's troubles had been self-inflicted. “Besides, are you saying I'm more like that pig than Victor!?”

As always, Otabek took Yuri's irritation in his stride, and he responded without rancour. “Well, you know them both better than I do, so that's for you to say.”

“Right,” Yuri said. “And now they're both coming here to train and make eyes at each other all over the ice.”

Otabek chuckled. “Poor you,” he said, and Yuri found himself smiling into the phone. He was glad he could make Otabek laugh sometimes; he felt that was something a friend should do, and something he wasn't very good at.

“It's going to be awful,” he continued, sticking with the apparently inexhaustible theme of Victor and Yuuri's embarrassingly public and just generally sickening romance. “I should come to Almaty and train with you instead.” They both knew he was merely being melodramatic; both Yakov and Lila were based in St Petersburg and he had no intention of changing coaches-

“I'd like that,” Otabek said.

Oh. Oh, yeah, that would be good, now he thought about it. Skating with a friend. He wondered what Almaty was like. Maybe if Otabek didn't mind he'd visit sometime.

Fuck, he could visit anyway, if he wanted. It wasn't like he felt constrained to wait until he was invited (or wait for permission) before he went places, but it would be much nicer if Otabek was there to show him around.

He didn't mention it. They hadn't been friends for that long, after all, and he still felt uncertain about a lot of things. When Otabek was right in front of him, listening with his full attention, his eyes on Yuri's face, it was easy to talk, effortless, but often over the phone he'd run out of things to say, wonder if he was boring the older skater, or if he seemed immature.

That's what he liked about Otabek, he decided. He was nearly a decade younger than Victor, but Yuri couldn't imagine _him_ throwing away his career because some drunk asked him to at a banquet. He wouldn't get bored and lose focus. Yuri knew partly it was because Otabek wasn't as naturally talented as Victor was, but he respected that too.

He was so mature, Yuri decided, someone you could rely on absolutely. He wouldn't forget promises the way Victor did, he was sure of it. And he definitely wouldn't fall in love with someone either, Yuri thought to himself, happily and secretly.

They were alike, after all. Otabek had said so himself, and Yuri could find nothing to resent in the comparison.

~~

 

Now that they were friends, Yuri followed Otabek's social media. Otabek had already been following him for some time, although Yuri had so many followers he hadn't noticed. Otabek had very few; he clearly used his accounts to keep in touch with people he knew personally, rather than as a public persona. His public posts tended to be little more than professional announcements, and the odd sunset he thought particularly good.

An outsider would get entirely the wrong idea.

Otabek may well have been Yuri's first friend, but Yuri was definitely not his. The skating scene in Kazakhstan was quite small, but Otabek had a large family, and attended college part-time and so most of the people he knew had very little connection to skating. Thus, Yuri found himself on the edge of a large, boisterous social circle, watching long discussions about people he didn't know and accidentally getting invited to things, and he kept quiet, watching. Most of Otabek's friends were his contemporaries, and Yuri felt very young as he poured over pictures of gatherings in people's houses, new cars and motorbikes and partners and vacations. All the things ordinary people had the time to do.

Otabek was not very outgoing, even at home, and like Yuri he was focused on skating first and foremost, but he was honest and likeable and so people liked him, once they knew him, and Yuri was proud. Proud that his friend had friends and was happy, and proud that he'd been chosen to be one of them.

Maybe a little envious, too, every time he saw Otabek among his friends. They could see him whenever they liked.

Otabek watched Yuri's social media too, but he never commented or liked anything publicly, well aware of how Yuri felt about being dubbed the fairy to his hero and not wanting to feed the narrative. He'd mention things in private instead, and Yuri was always secretly delighted when he responded, and so he started making more posts specifically with that aim in mind.

No one seemed to notice he took more pictures of sunsets nowadays.

He had this friend business nailed.

 

~~

Until one day he didn't.

It came out of nowhere, without warning, on just another day of fatigue and focus on the ice like any other. The mild Russian summer with its long twilights often saw some of the skaters out strolling after training, making the most of the weather, shopping and buying coffee.

Yuri was looking around for the best spot to photograph the sunset when Mila interrupted him, shoving her phone under his nose.

“Yuri! Have you seen this? Ahhh he's so handsome.”

He had not, in fact, seen this picture before, and he felt his expression freeze over as he struggled how to respond to it.

Everyone did sponsorship stuff. They had a relatively short window to make the most of their skating careers, and Yuri was constantly fending off offers from clothing brands desperate to have him photographed in their wares. He liked his own style, thank you very much, but he'd found gainful employment spruiking soft drink he wasn't allowed to actually drink while he was in training, and various electronics.

Most advertising campaigns were national, and so he'd never seen, or even thought about, Otabek in that context. Not until now.

They were trying to sell the sunglasses that were hanging from the third buttonhole of Otabek's shirt, the first two buttons undone, the collar spread to show off his collarbones and chest. The rest of him was braced on the bonnet of a car, hip cocked, one leg bent up, jeans hugging his thighs, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.

His hair was swept back, save for a few strands falling artfully in front of his eyes, and they'd had him grow a couple days worth of stubble.

Yuri blinked as Mila waved a hand in front of his eyes, “Earth to Yuri. Did I break you?”

“Of- of course not!” Yuri snapped, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Such Eros! He's gorgeous isn't he?” Mila giggled, and Yuri narrowed his eyes. How dare she speak of Otabek like that?

Then again, why should he care? Why would it matter? Yuri shoved his hands in his pockets and adopted an air of unconcern.

“Of course he is. Anyone with eyes can see that.” Like he'd known all along, and hadn't cared. Which he didn't because they were friends. Like he wasn't going to google _Otabek Atlin Ad_ first thing when he got home.

Mila didn't look like she was going to be fooled, raising an eyebrow at him knowingly. “Well, not all of us pay such close attention to him as you do.”

Yurio couldn't think of anything to say. Why hadn't he _noticed_? Just because Otabek didn't say much, and usually spoke quietly. (He'd shouted at World's when Yuri had taken to the ice, although at the time he'd been to focused on Victor and Yuuri to really think about it. The 'Davai!' had only echoed in his head later, after he'd won.) And he was kind, and serious, and his skating was serious too; putting Yuri in mind of mountains and rivers, too mature for eros, he'd thought.

He's a friend, he's a friend, Yuri thought, even as he stared at the picture in the privacy of his own room, his stomach churning, but not unpleasantly. He thought about Victor, dazzled by Yuuri's dancing, and practically threw his phone away.

Nope, just forget you saw it. Forget it even happened. He was not going to fall in love with anyone, regardless of how hot they were.

Forgetting it was easier said than done. The more he tried not to think about it, the more he did. He could practically feel Otabek's smouldering glare, and even though Yuri knew they'd airbrushed him to an impossible standard of perfection, it was still _him_. He knew those eyes, that mouth, that jawline.

It was as bad as he'd predicted. He could feel his lack of focus bleeding into his jumps, his distraction making him careless, and his carelessness making him angry, and his anger making him impatient and sloppy and Yakov dressed him down. Again.

He didn't tell Otabek any of this. He didn't need to know, and he was the same as always, but Yuri had never kept anything from him before, and he felt guilty and sad, as he complained about his training and soaked up Otabek's concern, but didn't admit he knew the reason why.

It wasn't fair, he thought. Just because Otabek was hot.

Just because.

Because he's just hot. That's all.

He remembered when Victor had first flown to Japan, Yuri had kind of expected Yuuri would take one look at Victor and fall to his knees and Victor would fuck it all out of his system and be back in a week.

Things had not gone to plan, obviously, but Yuri was pretty sure his original ideas weren't wrong. Victor couldn't possibly have _loved_ Yuuri at that point. He could have avoided letting it get that far.

Obviously the solution was not to fuck it out of his system, because that would involve letting Otabek in on the whole thing and there was no guarantee he'd even be interested in-

Okay stop spoiling your own fantasies, he told himself and decided there was no harm in indulging his imagination. He was a grown man and he could take care of himself and his libido without spoiling his skating.

Pleased with this solution, Yuri plunged headlong into all the fantasies he'd been resolutely not having for the past couple of weeks. Nothing romantic, of course, this was about pure sex, not love, and he was so embarrassed about the whole thing he was quite certain he'd be able to keep it from Otabek himself.

And it worked. Yanking himself off before training meant he could concentrate on the ice, and Yakov stopped yelling at him so much. Now he was back in control he was free to taunt Mila about her ridiculous crush on Otabek, and calmly and maturely admire the pictures she dug up from various advertising campaigns. Take that, Victor.

Victor, for his part, wasn't rising to the bait. As Yuri had predicted, he was struggling a bit under his self-imposed workload, and frankly Yuri wasn't going to stoop so low as to try and make it harder for him. He didn't need to do that to win.

Now everything was back to normal again, Yuri had convinced Otabek that it helped him focus if he could see Otabek working when he studied, and so the older man agreed to skype for study sessions when their schedules allowed it. Yuri just liked to see the inside of Otabek's room, and the occasional glimpse of his family in the background. It made him feel included. He missed him. He was allowed to miss his friend; perfectly natural.

Otabek's face was a bonus too, of course. His hair unstyled, his face pale in the glow of his screen. Nothing like the ad at all.

Yuri didn't particularly care for school, and he approached it like he approached other obligations that weren't related to skating; without enthusiasm. Obviously he needed to pass and graduate, but he didn't see the need for college and thus he wasn't all that interested in getting good grades either. His career was already more important than education.

So he didn't spend quite as much time studying as he claimed, preferring to watch Otabek instead, and when the silence was broken it was usually by Yuri, as his mind wandered.

“Mila wants to know when you'll do another ad for sunglasses,” Yuri said casually, thinking of it only because she'd popped up on his feed.

“Oh.” Otabek said, and ceased typing. He was so still Yuri wondered if the call had cut out.

“Hello?”

“You saw that picture?” Otabek asked, and even in the dim light of his room Yuri could see a flush creeping over his cheeks.

_Too fucking cute!_ Yuri thought, completely caught off-guard. “Well yeah,” he said.

Otabek buried his face in his hands. “Aah it's embarrassing,” he said through his fingers.

Yuri knew he should tease him. That was what friends were for, right, but all he could do was stare as Otabek's calm, unruffled facade cracked. Just for him.

“It's okay, I thought it was good,” Yuri said, his impulse to reassure rather than mock. “I thought you looked very sexy,” he added, because he couldn't resist entirely; he was enjoying watching the stoic older man squirm.

“Yeah?” Otabek looked at him through his fingers, right up at the camera rather than the screen, and now it was Yuri's turn to feel pinned and short of breath. Otabek lowered his hands and looked away with a faint smile. “Well, I guess it's okay.”

What the fuck does _that_ mean, Yuri wanted to demand, but he stayed uncharacteristically quiet until they went to bed.

There is absolutely nothing wrong, he thought as he flung himself, spinning, into the air. Nothing. Just because he couldn't look at that picture any more without remembering Otabek's blushing face, which ruined _everything_ because that Otabek was off-limits. That Otabek was real.

And so far away. The thought made Yuri ache a little, in his chest rather than his groin. He was only a few hours away by plane; it wasn't impossible for Yuri to go and see him if he really wanted to, but the thought that Otabek might not be happy if he showed up unexpectedly, that he'd ask why he was there and Yuri wouldn't have an answer—he might as well have been on the moon.

He just needed to focus. He'd see Otabek when they competed again, and he wanted to have something good to show him, something to answer with when Otabek shouted his support.

_Alina is visiting!_ the caption read. The beautiful young woman with the mane of dark hair on the back of Otabek's bike was vaguely familiar. Yuri remembered Otabek congratulating her on graduating college not so long ago and further investigation—read: stalking—revealed she was one of Otabek's numerous cousins. A favourite one, by the looks of it.

He'd even used an exclamation mark, and Yuri knew how rare that was. He stared at the photograph, the smiles on Otabek' and Alina's faces, the unselfconscious way she sat easily behind Otabek, her hands on his waist. Maybe they did this a lot.

Yuri felt something like physical pain, but that was an entirely new sensation, a kind of gnawing despair that grew worse the longer he looked at the photo. But he couldn't bring himself to look away.

He could imagine them zooming around Almaty and going out for coffee, just like he and Otabek had done in Barcelona. It didn't matter that they were related; Yuri didn't want to share the back of Otabek's bike with anyone, but it had now struck him, forcefully, how little claim he had. It was enough to know that Otabek could smile like that with someone else; it opened up a whole vista of possibilities that until now Yuri hadn't even considered.

If Otabek dated someone, would he even tell him? Especially after all his rants about how love was bad for your skating.

Yuri was so utterly miserable he was tempted to tell Yakov he'd come down with something and spend the day in bed. Yakov would certainly enforce rest if he wasn't well, but he was also likely to summon a doctor, just to make sure there was nothing wrong with their top skater, and taking the deception that far seemed like more effort than just going in to train.

In hindsight, he should have stayed home. The ice had never felt so unforgiving, and his own limbs so slow and heavy as that day. He crashed gracelessly down to earth but barely felt it, sunk in a misery that was purely emotional. He tried to tell himself he was angry at Otabek for not focusing on his training, but he knew he was really angry at himself.

It should be me, he thought. It has to be me, or I won't be able to bear it. This, this was exactly what he'd been afraid of, and Yakov eventually told him he'd done enough for the day, that he'd injure himself if he kept going as he was.

“Maybe he's fallen in love,” Georgi laughed, as Yuri clumped off the ice, his hair hanging down in front of his eyes so he didn't have to look at anyone. He slammed the door on his locker and then slumped down to sit on the floor with his back to it, his arms wrapped around his knees.

This sucks. Everything sucks. Fuck Otabek for effortlessly making him feel so awful, like he was just a brat with no self-control at all.

“Yurio?”

It was Yuuri, and Yuri was glad it wasn't Victor, although he half expected him to appear.

“Did something bad happen?” Yuuri asked, sitting on the bench so he didn't tower over him.

“I don't need your pity,” Yuri spat.

“Is your grandfather okay?” And Yuuri looked so concerned, Yuri couldn't maintain his anger—it wasn't really Katsudon who was bothering him, after all, and Yuri knew he actually cared.

“Grandpa's fine,” he said. “My cat is fine,” he added, before Yuuri could ask.

“Otabek?” Yuuri ventured carefully.

Yuri glared at the floor. “He's just great. Nothing is wrong, okay?” Nothing he could help with anyway.

“Well, if there is you know I'll help you if I can.” Yuuri smiled in that strange enigmatic way of his that Yuri found intensely annoying. “After all, without you to stand between us on the podium, who knows what might happen?”

“Eh? You've given yourself a podium position already? Even with Victor's half-arsed coaching- Wait. _You've allocated me gold?”_

“Well, I know that's what you think you deserve.” He was still smiling. “There's no point in trying to convince you otherwise at this point, is there? Anyway, I should get back to training.”

“There's no way you're going to beat me, Katsudon!” Yuri called after him, but he found himself smiling a little once he'd gone. He really was lucky to have such a rival; he understood that now.

He felt better until he remembered why he was miserable again, and he found himself lurking on Alina's social media, grinding his teeth when she posted a picture of the iced coffee Otabek had bought her.

She seemed like a really nice person; smart, pretty, liked cats. There were lots of people like that in the world, Yuri realised, and Otabek could meet any one of them, and most of them wouldn't be relatives.

It shouldn't matter. Whatever Otabek did it wasn't going to make a difference to him, he vowed. He couldn't afford to get distracted like this; he had to harden his heart more, and maybe take a step back until he got it under control, until he didn't feel things so keenly.

It wasn't that hard to pull away from someone when you're in different countries and in serious training. Simply be too busy to schedule any study sessions, post fewer sunsets, and try, try, try not to think about them.

And Yuri tried. He didn't want to cut Otabek off completely. He wanted to be his friend, and the thought of losing that was quite painful, but that meant reopening the wounds anew every time they messaged each other, so he found himself waiting before he opened Otabek's texts, finding other things to do, and he stayed away from his social media.

It was fine. Absolutely fine. Handling it like an adult, he thought. He was pretty sure Otabek would understand, even if he noticed. Which he probably didn't because they were just long distance friends and he was _not_ going to think about it.

Otabek called him, late by his standards, and Yuri couldn't help but feel a bit happy to see his name flashing on the screen.

He answered it, thinking maybe it had been too long since they'd talked, but Otabek didn't speak at first.

“Hello? Otabek? Are you okay?”

“I'm.” Yuri heard him sigh. “Let's give up on this,” he said quietly.

“What? Give up on what?” He felt his stomach twist unhappily as he sat up on his bed, as if it would help him focus.

“If you don't want to be friends, then we won't be friends,” he said, sounding angrier and more upset than Yuri had ever heard him. In his voice Yuri imagined he could hear days, if not weeks, of mounting certainty and hurt. “I'm not as heartless as you are.”

“What? When did I say I didn't want to be friends?”

“You mean to say you haven't been putting distance between us? Did you think I wouldn't notice?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I hoped you wouldn't.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

“Well, I hope it works out for you. I mean that. I'll always admire you.” He hung up.

Yuri didn't immediately call back. Didn't immediately do anything, just sat there frozen with his phone against his ear.

“Shit.” He wasn't going to cry; that would be pathetic. “Shit, I fucked up.”

He stared at his phone, but he didn't call back. He didn't want to talk into the void of Otabek's silence, not without looking him in the eyes.

He was almost out the door when Victor caught him.

“You can't stop me!” he declared, before Victor had even opened his mouth, even as he wondered if he literally stood a chance if Victor decided to physically restrain him.

Victor looked at him in silence for a moment as Yuri glared back. “Call me when you get there,” he said.

“Like hell I will!”

“Call Yakov then. Or Yuuri. Don't just disappear on us, or we'll tell everyone you're missing and to keep an eye out for you.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes. Victor might have been bluffing but you never could tell.

“I'll text you.”

Victor got out of his way. “I think your taxi's here. Good luck.”

“Yeah yeah.”

Yuri didn't manage to sleep that night, too nervous, but for all his fretting and thinking, he didn't really know what he was going to do. He just knew he had to be there when he did it, whatever it was.

He watched the sun rise out the window of the plane. His eyes were tired and sore, but he still marvelled as the mountains lit up, casting long shadows across the ground below.

Almaty.

This wasn't how he'd imagined coming here.

He stumbled out into the airport with the other overnight travellers, standing out among the rumpled suits queuing for coffee. He needed some himself, but he had something to do first. He called Otabek.

“What?” His voice was low and fuzzy with sleep. It was still quite early.

“I'm here. Come and pick me up,” Yuri said.

“What? Where?”

“Here! Almaty International Airport. Where else would I be?”

“Yuri...” He breathed out the name, knowing and fond and relieved and for the second time in twelve hours Yuri had to tell himself he wasn't going to cry, but he thought maybe he'd done the right thing. “I'll probably be half an hour or so.”

“Okay. I'll see you then.” He was very proud of how steady his voice sounded.

Yuri sent Victor the text he'd promised and then bought himself coffee and finished it while he waited, sitting by the curb watching the taxis come and go and the blue of the sky deepen as the day truly began. He was fighting the urge to nod off when he heard the sound of a bike and he was on his feet almost instantly, peering down the line of traffic.

It was almost like the first time. Otabek couldn't park in the drop-off zone so all Yuri could do was bundle himself onto the back of the bike, put on the helmet, and hang on.

He'd missed him so much. Why had he thought trying to distance themselves was a good idea?

Otabek finally came to a halt within the city proper, and Yuri was glad he hadn't taken him back to his house to talk. It was easier out in the open air.

Otabek looked like he'd been woken up early after a bad nights' sleep and Yuri suspected he looked pretty much the same. He hadn't shaved or combed his hair and Yuri had never seen him in clothes so rumpled and hastily donned.

“Um.” Yuri said, as Otabek tried to comb his hair out of his eyes with his fingers. Yuri could only stare at him, drink in the reality of having him right there and wonder what the fuck he was supposed to say.

“Why are you here?” Otabek asked calmly, and somehow, as always, it calmed Yuri down too.

“Because I fucked up,” Yuri said. “I was wrong to push you away and I'm sorry.”

“Without telling me, yeah,” Otabek said. “So why did you?”

“Ugh.” The apology was the easy bit. “Because I don't want to give up on skating!”

Otabek raised his eyebrows. “I don't follow.”

“Because you distract me! And I get jealous and, and I miss you and I said I wouldn't...” he trailed off, staring at his feet.

They were joined by another pair of feet and Yuri looked up and into Otabek's face as he stepped up to him. “Wouldn't what?” he asked.

Yuri set his jaw and refused to answer.

“Well, since you came all the way over here,” Otabek said. “I guess I owe you something in return.”

“A present?” Yuri asked, although Otabek's hands were empty.

He chuckled, but he wasn't meeting Yuri's eyes. He took a deep breath. “I should have said something earlier, but it's hard to say. I think I might have been in love for a while, and it doesn't stop me skating.” He smiled faintly, while Yuri felt like his heart was going to beat right through his chest. “It might have even inspired me a little. I've always found you inspiring.”

“Otabek.” Yuri knew he was staring, that his jaw was probably hanging, but he couldn't look away.

“I am not Yuuri Katsuki,” Otabek continued, more forcefully. “And you are not Victor. I think you're going to be greater than he was, but if I'm standing in the way of that-”

“No!” He flung himself forward without thinking about it, wrapping his arms around Otabek's neck. “No, you're not! I wouldn't let you,” he declared, scowling.

Fuck, what was he doing, what was he _doing?_ Otabek was gazing at him, eye to eye, and he seemed to be holding his breath. Yuri hadn't really noticed he'd gone up on his toes; it had been instinctive, wanting to get closer. Now he was up here, and Otabek wasn't pushing him away, it seemed pretty natural to get closer still.

Yuri tilted his head slightly and pressed his lips against Otabek's. He didn't think he'd been really scared of anything so much in all his life as what Otabek would do when he pulled back again. He'd treated him so badly-

He'd barely started dropping down off his toes when Otabek embraced him, and pulled him close against his chest. Yuri only got a glimpse of his face before he was leaning in to kiss him back, twice, three times. Firm, unhurried press of lips, strangely solemn, and it made Yuri think he hadn't really done much of this before either and he was fiercely glad of that.

And then he just hugged him, his chin on Yuri's shoulder and Yuri hugged him back, breathed him in, and felt something that had been wound up for months slowly start to unwind, the deep relief of finally having to stop fighting, to just let it happen.

“Do you want breakfast?” Otabek asked.

“Yeah!”

He was starving, now he thought about it, and exhausted; tired enough that he could well fall asleep on his feet in the Almaty sunshine, Otabek's arms holding him like he never intended to let him go.

 

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into this fandom. Hopefully, I'll have more to contribute soon. You can find me on [tumblr](https://mongoose-bite.tumblr.com/) and a few original stories on [dreamwidth.](https://mongoose-bite.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> Now there is fanart by princelingkit! [Click here.](http://princelingkit.tumblr.com/post/155223275145)


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